


Best Laid Ninja Plans

by chillafterdark



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillafterdark/pseuds/chillafterdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warning for one instance of drug use (pot). You’ll know the scene from the first sentence, feel free to skip if it bothers you. 20k</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Laid Ninja Plans

It’s embarrassing, really, is what what it is. Because he’s supposed to have his shit together, he’s so  _mature_  and  _poised_  and all that other bullshit that comes when you make it to 21 and famous without humiliating yourself in public one way or another. Which, considering how difficult that particular achievement seems to be - fair enough.

But that just makes it that much harder when he  _does_  screw up, quietly and privately. Only that’s even kind of wrong because although no one might know the extent of the damage, lots of his fans know and are already speculating about he and Max anyway. Who the hell is he supposed to talk with about this? Not his parents, nope, definitely not. Not for something like this. Not Ashley, who would probably have decent advice and a whole lot of sympathy - in fact, she does, but that’s just the problem, she knows this whole clusterfuck top to bottom and is totally on his side, which is  _great_ , it really is, but he needs perspective and not a wingman - or woman - right now.

Which is how he ends up on Skype, scrolling through his list of contacts at one a.m. on a Saturday morning until he lands on a name that is probably awake and maybe more-or-less sober and who doesn’t know enough to judge but who Chris knows enough to  _trust_  . Someone who might have actual life experience relevant to his sort of situation.

 _Hi!_  Yes, well done Christopher, you have the conversational skills of a five year old.

There’s no response at first so Chris clicks out of the window to open google. He’s barely even started typing in the search bar, though, when the window flashes.

_Hey, Chris! What’s up?_

Chris considers small talk. He considers beating around the bush. Then he wonders what he could possibly beat around the bush  _about_ , gives up, and goes for directness.

_Um. I need advice. Hypothetically._

There’s a hesitation, like all of Will’s attention isn’t on the conversation yet or he’s thinking about how to respond. Finally, he responds:  _You need my advice on a hypothetical, or you need my hypothetical advice? :)_

I _hypothetically could use your advice. About a thing._

_A thing? I swear to god, Colfer, if the next thing you type is “I have a friend who…_

Chris grins, and feels better already.  _But I *do* have a friend who!_

I _bet you do :) Alright. What’s *his* issue then?_

And that - that’s the question right there, isn’t it?  Chris doesn’t know how to start so he just _does_  — types and types and erases and retypes and doesn’t actually get any closer to hitting “send,” and the text box just keeps getting bigger. Eventually, the window flashes again with a new message.

_Chris? Are you writing a novel?_

Chris highlights everything, hits ctrl-c, deletes it all.  _Maybe_.

_Do you want to maybe try this in person? Before you give yourself carpal tunnel?_

Chris thinks about it, what he might have to lose. Not much, as it turns out.  _….maybe._

_Okay. There’s a 24-hour coffee place around the corner from me. I’ll send you the address. See you there in 20?_

What? Now?  _What? Now? Where are you?_

_Cam’s. Are you really going to make me admit out loud that I have nothing cooler going on on a Saturday night?  Please don’t make me admit that._

Chris grins, and taps the address that comes in the next message into his phone.

 _I’ll clear my busy social schedule_.

_Good. You have no *idea* how many people I’ll have to cancel on for you, Christopher._

Which is how, at 2:30 in the morning on a Saturday, Chris finds himself across the table from Will, nursing hot chocolate and telling him  _everything_  about what he’s started thinking of as the Maxtastrophe. About how Max was funny and smart and cute. The flirting had been fun and the hookups had been hot and even more fun (although sometimes awkward and weird, but he’s not about to go into  _that_ ). It had seemed to be going so well - really, really, well, maybe - until everything had just fallen fantastically apart thanks to a few tweets.

Max hadn’t called him one night when he said he would, then called him the a few nights later when Chris had sort of given up on the hope that he would, and that phone call had _not_  ended well at all.  Chris doesn’t want to tell Will all of these things, isn’t quite ready to really expose how embarrassed and young and pissed off and  _stupid_  he feels. He’s desperate for some sort of mature perspective though. Chris takes a breath and settles for the watered down version of events; just enough to get some sort of advice, and maybe a sort of clue.

“He was probably freaked by everything,” Will says, when Chris has finally talked himself out and is poking a sugar packet listlessly around the table. “The internet had kind of a, uh…”

“Interest?”

“I was going to say feeding frenzy, but sure,” Will shrugs, and grins. Chris huffs. “I mean, it was kind of crazy. That kind of thing would scare anybody off.”

Chris huffs again, and Will folds his arms and leans back in his chair. “Did you ever talk about it? What you were going to do when the shit started hitting the fan with you two? What questions he was willing to answer?”

Chris shrugs. “Yeah. Well. Okay… well no, not really?”

“Mm?”

“At first it was sort of understood that we both had reasons to keep it quiet. You know, it was just flirting and then a lot of ending up in bed together. Some things were just a given, you know, considering his situation.  He seemed to relax about it - or like he was going to - after a bit. And then…” He tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice - really, he does.

“Sounds like he underestimated what would really happen. Not everyone’s cut out for the crazy kind of life you lead, Colfer. Probably better to find that out sooner or later, before you got too invested.” Chris doesn’t say anything, just flicks his eyes up at Will, whose grin slips. “…oh. You got invested, didn’t you?”

Chris just shrugs, again, because that’s the  _other_  question. “Yeah. I think.” He frowns, and jabs at the sugar.

“You think?” Will’s look is challenging, almost sarcastic, but there’s something genuinely kind behind it. Maybe it’s the hint of southern. Whatever it is, it’s comforting - however Will responds, he’s not going to be cruel or saccharine, and that’s exactly what Chris needs right now.

“I mean, how do you - know? Because I’m, you know,  _me_ , and my life is fucking  _weird_ , how do I know what’s me being - weird, and what’s life being actually messed up, and when is it about  _feelings,_  and when is it just about - hormones, and sex… because I’m 21, life shouldn’t be about, you know, all that romantic bullshit, should it? ” he trails off, not sure how to finish that thought, everything a mess of confusion and  _hurt_  and a complete and utter lack of any clear guidelines, even (and especially) any ones he has set for himself.

“Jesus, you sure pick the easy ones, don’t you?” Will uncrosses his arms and starts toying with his almost-empty cup. “Okay. Let’s break this down. Issue the first: Max freaked out because he couldn’t handle the heat, once the fans went crazy and started figuring stuff out. Issue the second: you’re twenty one and haven’t figured out how to deal with relationships yet.”

Chris kicks at him under the table. “Make me sound like a baby, why don’t you.”

Will grins at him, and shoves his foot back. “You  _are_  a baby. Not in everything, but, you know, in this. It’s not even an age thing, really.  _Believe me_.  Everybody starts out that way, it’s okay.”

“I’m so comforted.”

“Hey, you asked me.”

“You have no idea how much I’m starting to regret that.”

Will kicks at him again. “I’m just trying to help. But, okay. The fans are  _always_  going to be an issue, they love you, but a lot of them are persistent and sometimes kind of invasive. You know that. Now you’ve been through this, next time around you’ll be able to prepare them better. ‘Cause it’s one thing to  _be_  you, and another thing to date you, you know? And not everybody is going to be as awesome at handling the heat as you are.”

“Aw, shucks,” Chris deadpans, and Will grins at him again.

“The other thing, though. Feelings and sex and stuff?” he says, after a pause, and waits for Chris to look up at him again before he continues. “That’s different for  _everybody_ , and I don’t know what to tell you except to - keep trying. Learn from your mistakes, all that bullshit. You’re the only one who can figure out you and no matter what you  _do_  figure out, just remember that  _you_  make the rules — it’s your life. So screw the whole “should” or “shouldn’t” thing. We all have to figure this stuff out and there’s always s _omething_  making it more fucked up. Don’t let other people define who you are or what you want.”

Will’s smile seems something complicated just then; a story he has to tell, Chris guesses, but he’s not sure this is the time to ask. “There is no rule that you need to have all the answers about what you want right now. And if you have any more questions,” He picks up his cup again and tips it around. “You know where to find me.”

“Now,” he says, after a long moment wherein Chris is occupied with silently shredding the sugar packet. “Feel better?”

Chris pushes the little flecks of paper around with his fingers. Strangely, he does - if nothing else, the problems seem a little clearer, even if the answers are still eluding him. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Good. Now come on, go home, I need my beauty rest.”

Chris snorts as he pushes his chair back and stands. “Not enough hours in the night, Sherrod.”

*

Chris had gone home directly after their meetup, faceplanted on his bed, and slept the sleep of the dead. If the dead sleep for four hours.

It’s too early, he grumps silently at his ceiling, to be awake on a non-call day. And yet here he is, brain more hopelessly tangled than his legs in his stupidly comfortable sheets.

Everything Will had said last night seemed to make all kinds of sense right then, and had assuaged the pit of confused anxiety he’d been carrying around for days. Only it’s morning now and Chris is realizing that their conversation hadn’t really done…well anything.

He’s still confused about sex, which he’d not even managed to bring up (at least, not what he’d really wanted to talk about). Whatever massive communication misstep they’d taken before Tweetgate 2011 had occurred is maybe more clear and why the hell he even cares so much in the first place.

Well maybe not the last. He thinks. He wants someone…right? Or maybe it’s just the sex he wants.  He’s had sex, he thinks indignantly. Plenty of sex. It had been better with Max than any of the other guys (well two, sort of) he’d had sex with. Because he can’t lie and pretend he’d never had feelings for Max. Which had totally burned him in the end, and Chris is not sure now, if even good sex makes makes feeling like  _this_  worth it.

He’s not even sure they really touched on that subject all that much because Will had been busy giving him a pep talk about being a special little snowflake.

“Ugh, fuck you Will Sherrod.” He covers his face with a pillow to muffle his curses.

~*~

“You didn’t actually help all that much.” Chris drops suddenly next to Will on the couch.

“It’s Trivial Pursuit, Chris, I don’t think I was supposed to be helping you.” Will stuffs more guacamole-laden tortilla chips into his mouth.  

“Not that — although I still contend that it was totally unfair-”

“ _Chris._ ”

“Oh,” Chris shakes himself out his post-unfairly-crushing-loss rage momentarily. “I mean with the thing.”

“The thing.”

“Yeah.” Chris frowns in what he hopes is a  _telling_  way. Ashley is nearby, he knows. And if she’s not, one whiff of this conversation and she’ll be drawn to it like a shark to blood.

“Oh! The  _thing_ ” Will smiles brightly, “That thing!” Chris looks around in alarm. Will’s voice is steadily increasing in volume, “Well that’s not a problem, just get your doctor to look at that rash-”

“Oh my god, what is wrong with you!” Chris slaps a hand over Will’s mouth and waits a beat before pulling it away cautiously.

“Sorry darlin’.” Will is all smiles now, the sarcastic fucker, and Chris is  _so_  regretting having come to him.

“This was dumb,” Chris stands.

“Oh come on now, I’m just messing around.” Will snags his hand and tugs him back down, then looks around to see if they’ve been spotted. Things are amping up; in a bit he’s sure no one will really even notice. “Come on, lets get some drinks.” He knocks his knee against Chris’s before standing.

~*~

“So, what’s up, buttercup?” Will nudges a glass in his direction.

“I think I’m more confused than I was the last time I talked to you,” he starts without preamble.

“New developments?”

“Not unless you call thinking a development.” Chris leans his head against a propped hand against the back of the couch.

“Well I’m sure the cavemen did, so there’s a start.”

“Shut up,” he kicks Will’s leg lightly and then sighs. “Okay, so last time we talked you told me I should learn from my mistakes, figure myself out, all that stuff.”

“That sounds oddly patronizing. I’m an asshole, aren’t I?” Will leans back against the armrest, guileless face wide open earnest.

“Always.” Chris smiles back helplessly. At the very least, Will never fails to make him smile. “You weren’t being patronizing, I’d remember.”

“So-?”

“So…” Chris considers the amount of alcohol left in his cup, downs it with a wince and shakes his head. “I need more, do you need more?”

“Oh Christopher,” Will laughs helplessly, “It’s going to be that sort of conversation, isn’t it?”

Chris just turns on a heel and heads toward the nearest supply of alcohol.

~*~

“So, dumbass, let’s talk about sex.”  

It turns out that it is difficult to death-glare someone when your internal temperature has just spiked to a level just below the threshold for spontaneous combustion.

“Ex-cuse me?”

“Sex.” Will folds himself, long tight limbs, onto the couch next to Chris. Chris looks around, looking for an out, but the place is quiet, and dark; almost everyone else has left, and even his trusty wingwoman is nowhere to be found. Damn it, Ashley.

“…yes?”

“You are confused by it.”

“….yes.”

“Welcome to the human race.” Will holds out a fist; Chris gives him a _look_ , but Will just raises his eyebrow and nudges his knee insistently until Chris fist-bumps him back. “I am officially here in a less-of-a-jackass, totally-supportive-and-wise friendship capacity. Cause you seem to be having trouble. Talking about this.”

“I can talk about it just fine.” Chris huffs.

“So.” Will crosses his legs, tucking them up underneath himself. “Talk.”

“I thought you said you were going to be less of a jackass.”

“‘Less is the operative word there, sweetie. How long have you known me?”

It’s dark and it’s quiet; and yes, he has known Will for ages.  He is so confused and who else, really, does he have to talk to about this?

He takes a deep breath and tries to get it out as fast as possible, “I like it, I do. Sex,” Chris clears his throat, “I mean. It just seems to work best when it’s s-sort of fast? Cause then I don’t have time to think too much about it.” 

Will gives him a strange look but motions for him to continue.

“You know, when I was in high school, I was never really focused on what everyone else was. Maybe because I was an outsider anyway; not tons of opportunities for anything. But I liked that, that I was focused on my goals and getting out of there.”

“Which has served you well. And,” Will squeezes his knee, “makes you really fucking amazing.”

“Th-thanks.”  He wrinkles his nose and waits out the silence. Will jiggles his leg a little to get him to continue.

“So…fast.” He prompts.

“Oh god, I didn’t really mean like  _that_.”

“Yeah sure you didn’t,” Will laughs, “You kids and your lack of stamina.”

“Shut up.”

“Anyway,” Will redirects the conversation.

“I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s not – it’s not a prude thing, or that I’m self conscious or anything. It’s just…I don’t know, whenever we’d try new things…li-like things that take _time_ , I could never just be  _in_  it. I’m always thinking more about how I  _should_  like it or ‘why doesn’t this feel good’? and ‘wait should I put my leg here?’ or whatever ten million weird thoughts I’m having.” He rubs his forehead.

“You think a lot.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“And some…certain things just seem to…it was just really awkward.” Chris rocks his face into the scratchy fabric of the couch, embarrassed.

“You don’t have to like everything, you know.”  Will makes an expressive hand gesture that makes Chris squinch his eyes shut and desperately wish he could unsee,  “You’re going to have to put something, somewhere, unless you decide you aren’t ready to put anything anywhere or something like that. All options are open for you.”

“Oh, that’s not the problem, I definitely want things in all kind of places.” He’s suddenly a little too hot. “I guess I thought it would be easier with someone I sort of could see myself with. And oh my god that’s so cheesy and stupid.”

“Chris, come on.” Will rolls his eyes, “Why do you seem to think you shouldn’t want a relationship?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m too cynical for this crap. It just seems really fucking impossible with my life right now – who’s going to want to be a part of this? And I don’t…it just felt really shitty, the way it ended. I don’t want to go there again. ”

Will looks off in the distance for a bit. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”  It’s not a secret that Will’s been in a sort of on again off again thing that really doesn’t seem to be working out. “Sucky feeling,” His smile then sets up a sympathetic ache in Chris’s chest; he reaches over and squeezes Will’s bicep sympathetically, then wraps it around his wrist and leaves it there, rubbing the fine bones with his thumb.  “But I think it will be worth it in the end, when I find the right guy. And I definitely want to find the right guy.”

Chris blinks, hard. He is not going to cry. There is no  _reason_  to get weepy and emotional about this. Will sees but acts like there’s nothing wrong and Chris is intensely grateful.  His arms and legs feel loose, lax with his smooth breaths; he’s comfortable, which is a little surprising. “You’re pretty easy to talk to, you know?” He admits.

“I like talking to you.” Will shrugs, “I like that you talk to me. I want you to have people like that, Chris.”

He bites his lip and looks away, shrugs his body deeper into the cushions. He definitely wants that too.

~*~

The club is not his idea. The jeans (skinny, black,  _tight_ ,) are really not his idea. The eyeliner is really,  _really_  not his idea.

“I look like Pollyanna trying to be punk,” he bemoans, looking at his reflection in the mirror while Ashley fusses with his hair.

“If you’re gonna be Pollyanna, the least you could do is cheer up, Colfer. This is supposed to be fun! Also, you are wrong, you are looking  _fine_.”

“But -”

Ashley bats his hand away from where she’s spraying his bangs into place. The bangs are not helping to improve on the “punk” aspect of things. “You were going to wear a t-shirt out tonight. Your opinion is invalid.”

“…I’m wearing a t-shirt now!”

“It’s different.” Ashley says, and thunks the can of hairspray back on the counter. “C’mon, turn around, let me see.”

Chris heaves a sigh, and turns around. Ash puts her hands on her hips and gives him a firm up-and-down look. “Excellent,” she says, apparently satisfied with her handiwork. “Now get your ass downstairs, we’re going to be late.”

~*~

Chris is used to getting looks in public, obviously. That doesn’t mean it always feels comfortable — especially when he’s not using his body or face for a purpose other than just, you know, being in it. He spent so long hoping for puberty to come along, then given up any sort of hope until it finally had happened, a transformation that felt rapid and bewildering and along with the rapid tumble of changes he’s been through in the last three years, well- well it’s all still taking some getting used to.

So a little weird, yeah, but he can’t lie to himself and pretend that it’s not gratifying on several levels. Sometimes Chris is confused as fuck, but that doesn’t mean he’s not almost perpetually horny — he’s 21. His schedule is insanely busy and he rarely has the time to indulge his perpetually horny self and  _actually_  get laid.

They get into the club, the group of them, and it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The floor is vibrating steadily with the loud music, lights throbbing, bathing everyone inside in different colors.

“Need a drink?” Will is suddenly at his shoulder, almost too close. He smells different; strangely different. A little like sex, and a lot like man. Chris tries to shudder that off because _where the fuck did that come from?_.

“Yes,” he says a little desperately. They’ve come to have a good time and dance, to drink and be with friends. Chris has definitely grown more comfortable in his body, but dancing when he’s not  _Kurt_ , like singing, never seems to fit. He doesn’t inhabit his own body like he does Kurt’s, performing as himself feels restrictive and weird. Drinks  _definitely_  help with that.

~*~

It doesn’t take more than two drinks to get him out on the dance floor. It’s dark enough that he moves confidently in the haze of anonymity brought by the dark. Chris tries to let himself go, to move with every part of his body in a way that feels his, not the slightly quirky and off beat way Kurt does.

The attention helps a little, men watching as he loses himself to the steady music with his friends. They want to dance with him, some even try to sly their way closer; one manages, coming up behind him and letting his hands on Chris’s body.  _Too close_. Watching is one thing, but being touched by people he doesn’t know, not so much.

Maybe he needs more drinks.

He spots Will at the bar, nods to return his, then takes the drink Will orders for him. He still feels the phantom grip of wide hands on his hips and tries to ignore the low level thrum of his body’s desire.

“Getting lots of attention, I see.” Will leans in, almost shouting into his ear. In the heat of the club he’s sweating, and so close to him, Chris can smell it. Combined with whatever cologne he’s wearing tonight, it floods through Chris’ senses. He closes his eyes and tries to push back against heat rising through his chest. Will is his  _friend_.

Whatever he’s feeling right now, blushed hot and prickling aware and  _wanting_ , it’s not something he should be feeling for a friend.

“I guess.” Is all he manages, sucking down the sweet of a strawberry margarita. It kind of sucks and it’s a strange choice for their current environment, but it’s something he loves almost secretly. Will knows what he really likes, he realizes, which makes him smile.

“You alright?” Will’s hand is blazing hot on his waist, there suddenly enough that Chris jolts at the touch.

“Yeah.” Will is really very close to him now; Chris had to lean back a little to tilt up and look into his eyes. Neither talk for a humming, bewildering moment. “Um, so-” he clears his throat.

“Yeah. You-” Will swallows. His eyes are all over Chris’ face. “You look great tonight. Really. I like the eyeliner.” He reaches up to brush the pad of his index finger against the crest of his cheekbone. “And the freckles.”

“Oh god.” Chris sucks in a breath. Fucking freckles. “Shut up, they’re awful.”

Something crosses Will’s face then, an expression flittering then gone before Chris can really tell what it is.

“Fuck off, Chris. You’re gorgeous.” Will finishes his drink, takes Chris’ empty glass. He feels a bit dizzy, off footed.

“Want to dance?” It’s a sudden invitation; Will doesn’t take the time to let him answer, instead pulls him by the hand onto the dance floor.

“Um, I guess?” His response is drowned in the din. He lets Will pull him into the throng of dancers.

“Relax,” Wills mouth is so close then, breath humid in his ear. “Have fun!”

Chris closes his eyes then. Counts to five and lets the music seep into his muscles and bones, then melts into the music. Lets himself move, opens his eyes and watches Will for a moment before matching their movements.

There’s a moment, a shining moment that’s fire bright like lightning in his body, when he  _feels_  it. Feels sexy, feels power and in control of the ways he can use it. He moves closer to Will before he thinks about it. Bodies like magnets now, drawing and drawing closer and he doesn’t know why. He’s tipsy and hot and he just can’t bring himself to care what this means for their friendship because right now, it feels absolutely right to wind his arms around Will’s sweaty neck.

Will’s fingers dig in where they hold him at the hips; he uses his palm to push the hem of Chris’s shirt up. They brand hot against his skin; Will’s thumbs are  _so_  close to dipping just under his belt. He buries his face in Will’s neck for a minute where his skin is damp and pungent. Moisture coats his nose and lips a little and maybe it’s gross but when he licks his lips he  _swears_  he can taste Will. It takes everything he has not to lean in and lick, to lick up from Will’s exposed collarbone to just behind his ear.

He’s hard, hard and his whole body is pulsing, skin too thin and they’re so close now, bodies plastered together everywhere they can be.

Maybe if he was closer to sober, or not so fucking turned on he can’t think straight, he’d stop to think about this a little more, or care that Will’s leg has wound between his thighs, hard up against his own aching cock.

“Oh shit,” he manages, weakly, nosing up Will’s jaw and grinding down against his thigh. He’s not sure where it happens, the moment between wanting and doing, but suddenly his mouth is on Will’s.

The force of the kiss, Will’s mouth hard against his, is enough to sway Chris back a little. He grabs Will’s shoulders and hitches up a little, kisses back hungry, nipping Will’s lip, moaning when he lets Will’s tongue in. There’s nothing shy about this kiss; lush dirty wet from the start.

For these seconds, and Chris won’t be able to count how many they were later that night in his own bed, he’s nothing but a dizzy feedback loop of sensations battering him hard up; bass heavy sound and buzzing skin, needful rubbing up against Will while he’s getting himself t _horoughly. fucking. kissed._

And it’s incredible and somehow terrifying and definitely over too soon, way too soon, only it’s not because when he tears himself away its with a gasp and a shudder and a muffled _what the fuck_  aimed only at himself.

“Chris.” Will’s face is open, stunned. His lips shine bright and wet in the glitter of lights and it’s almost like seeing him for the first time. Maybe Chris has never really  _looked_ , because right now it’s a tidal force slamming him. Will is beautiful. Gorgeous and  _there_ and leaning in again to lick at his panting mouth until Chris’s fingers have wound so tight in his hair it must hurt. He feels the vibration of Will’s moan in his mouth. For all that’s just passed, it’s that that jolts him, that has him pulling back and suddenly it’s just Will again, his friend and sometimes mentor.

 _No_  he thinks through the blur of hormones and on the precipice of coming at that moment in front of hundreds of people and up against his  _friend_.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he gasps against Will’s ear.

Chris leaves him on the dance floor and his friends in the club to find his shaking, stuttering way home in the dark.

~*~

Chris is fucking confused, which is an emotion he doesn’t like but has been strangely subject to  _a lot_  recently. Enough that it kind of pisses him off.

So yeah, he’s pissed because he’s confused. Will being his friend and Will being a guy he pretty much just humped while letting himself be tongue fucked—in public no less—are not equivalent in his brain. Not equivalent, yet apparently the whole thing works just fine for the parts of him that  _aren’t_  his brain, because right now he’s so fucking turned on it hurts  _everywhere_.

Chris crashes through his door and stumbles out of his shoes. He’s just shy of drunk and so hard even the grip of his pants feels like enough to get him off, should he think about it enough. As it is, he doesn’t have much by way of coherent thought happening beyond  _must get off_  and  _what the hell just happened_?

The house is dark and silent; his breath loud and intrusive even to his own ears, louder still by the time he’s stretched out on his bed. There’s a part of him that wants to slow down, to revel in the sense memory of someone’s (Will’s) mouth and hands and hard thigh grinding up into him, but he really can’t. Everything feels so good, immediate and sharp and bewildering and he’s pulling on his hard cock frantically. He comes before his addled brain can catch up. Which is for the best really, letting the warmth and pleasure whiteout everything that’s probably too much and might be wrong and that he apparently, maybe, really wants.

~*~

So, this is weird. He feels weird, only he’s not really sure how much of that is left over confusion, how much is pure exhaustion, and if maybe some is just residual horny interest. Telling himself, over and over, that Will is just a friend doesn’t stop Chris from watching him — the way he laughs with his whole body, head tilting back a little, smile too wide but sitting perfectly on his face.

It’s been a week since  _the incident_  and Chris  _misses_  Will. Which is entirely his fault for avoiding his texts and calls. He can’t bring himself to open communication with Will; every outcome of conversation feels heavy with some sort of risk or loss.

Next to Cam, Will is doing an impersonation. Of whom, Chris has no idea because he’s not listening. Will is doing this adorable thing he does, the one where his head starts to bob to the side and his hands articulate almost too vividly. He wants those hands on him.

Only he doesn’t. Chris closes his eyes and looks away. Because wanting Will is not enough. Someone or something is bound to get hurt here: his pride if he’s misreading the whole thing, his heart when it turns out that being with Chris (and his crazy, fucked up, insanely busy life and intense drive to succeed) is too hard to make the choice to stay. The worst option maybe: Will’s heart should Chris fuck up somehow.

He’s no fool either, because Chris knows  _nothing_  about how to be in a serious relationship and if his track record with relationships speaks to anything, it’s that he’s clearly not cut out for them.  

“Colfer.” Chris jolts out of his thoughts when Will plops next to him at the table. “Stop being an asshole.”

“Shut up.” Chris feels his face heat up, but cracks a small smile he has to hide when Will kicks him under the table. His fingertips hurt his heart is pounding so hard, because this is so hard and  _why is this so hard_?

Because choosing between something he wants so deeply and something he  _has_  that he actually trusts won’t ever fail isn’t as easy at all.  Chris tries to sit out the silence until he can’t take it anymore, “We’re friends right?” God, why can’t he control his urge to blurt around Will? No one likes a blurter.

“Yeah.” Will’s smile is unreadable. He tries to meet Will’s eyes. He doesn’t want to imagine that there’s something else there; that maybe it’s regret or frustration.

“I’m sorry I just-“  

“It’s fine.” Will’s hand quirks, tipping his drink to the side, “It’s fine right?”

Chris bites his lip.

“Don’t be a stranger Chris. I kind of missed your ugly face. Who else am I going to watch House Hunters with? No one else cares.”

“Touche.”

~*~

“Ashley said you needed company.” Will shoulders past him through the open door.

“She did what?” He is going to murder that girl; first she bails on him, then she sends uninvited company?

“Hey kitty,” Will crouches to scratch Brian behind his ears.

“Will,” Chris closes the door and sighs.  He doesn’t want to be rude, but he’s also not really in company keeping form at the moment. “I don’t- I,” He hasn’t seen Will in weeks. He’s cut his hair.  

It’s been long enough for Chris to have convinced himself that Will really isn’t as good looking as his libido would like him to believe. Unfortunately, his libido seems to have been right because Will looks delicious, just starting to tan from the summer sun, wearing a faintly ridiculous tank top (only not ridiculous at all because  _hello arms_ ).

“I come armed with a plan,” Will flicks cat fur off of his hands gently when he stands, “We are going to watch Lifetime Movies, eat Chinese and keep your mind busy and nerve free.”

“Lifetime Movies suck, Will.”

Will rolls his eyes, “That’s the point, asshole. You don’t actually  _watch_ , you just ad lib your own story.”

There’s a long pause.

“I’m not nervous.” Chris crosses his arms.

“Uh-huh, sure. Listen,” Will gives him a playfully indulgent smile, “Can I use your bathroom? I need to wash Brian off of my hands…unless you like men with sniffles.”

“Oh yeah,” Chris smiles back helplessly, watching Will’s eyes track the way his fingers dip nervously under the hem of collar of his t-shirt, “Love a man with allergies.”

“Honey, you came to the right place then.”

Chris ignores the exaggerated wink and gestures toward the bathroom. “Technically you came here.”

Will’s laughter floats down the hall behind him. “Not that anyone is coming anywhere, any time soon.” Chris whispers to himself.

~*~

He eats all of his Chinese and then half of Will’s.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” he stops, mouth half full, when he realizes that he can see the bottom of the container. “I must have been hungrier than I thought.” He chews the rest of his bite carefully.

Will snorts out a laugh, “Emotional eater, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Chris throws a chopstick, then has to laugh when a bean sprout lands on the couch. “I’m being not emotional. I’m being hungry.”

“Sure thing, cap’n.” Will salutes him lazily and it’s fucking so smartass and adorable and _Will_  that Chris has to resist the urge to kiss him.

~*~

“Stop twitching.”

“I’m not twitching, I had an itch.” Chris shifts; his stomach feels tight and too full from all the food, even into their second movie.

“You’re fucking twitching, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby, that’s just weird.” Chris snaps.  They sit in silence for a while, television blaring, loud and too colorful. He fidgets against cushions and sighs. He has no idea what’s even happening on the show.  Will pauses suddenly.

“Nervous?”

He gives in.

“I don’t know.” Chris clears his throat and  _fuck_  he really  _is_  twitching. “Lots of people. I’m excited for it, but…I don’t know. I know most of them love  _him_  and I’m not him and I want this to be  _my_  thing, something  _Chris_ did and-” He swallows, “it’s so weird, being Chris sometimes when they want Kurt-”

“That’s not all they want-” Will interrupts, “They’re coming for  _you_.”

Chris wonders if Will can see the  _fuck you_  he feels written all over his face, “No, a lot of them aren’t. They wouldn’t even  _know_  about the book, much less have read it, if they didn’t know me from Glee.”

“So?”  Will challenges, “You, Christopher, are a force of nature. Does it matter how you get your foot in all those doors you want to kick in, so long as you plant your ass in there once they’re down?”

“I’m….not even sure I know what that means-”

“It means you have a great platform to launch  _yourself_  off of, and unlike a lot of assholes in LA, possess the drive, the brain, and the talent to get it done.”

“So..”

“So stop twitching, baby. You’re gonna be fabulous.”

There’s something, sometimes, about Will that makes Chris giggle helplessly in a way he only can with friends.

“Seriously Chris.” Will turns his whole body toward him, tucking one knee up on the couch, touches his hand for emphasis,“I  _believe_  in you, and I know you do, too.”

He looks away, lip stinging with the bite of effort to keep his face neutral when he turns back to roll his eyes.

“You sound like a Hallmark card.”

“Yeah, well I do what I can to motivate the youth of America, even if it’s with nauseating platitudes.”  Will’s body stretches long when he slouches further into the cushions, propping his neck low against the back. Chris swallows and absolutely  _does not_  notice the spread of Will’s knees or the way his face is lit by the frozen television.

“Asshole.” He says it fondly, pressing hard against his own body’s drive to flush, and tips his head onto WIll’s shoulder, settling in to watch the show quietly.

~*~

If there is anything Chris hates about hotel rooms, it’s the way they’re always either too cold or too hot. He’s never managed to figure out the art of thermostat balance. Right now he’s too cold but he’s on a roll, clicking through and sending off emails way too efficiently for someone who’s spent hours talking to people and signing books. He’s cold and his butt kind of hurts from sitting still so long but he’s trying to power through the last of business before he can let himself crash.

He’s almost there when his phone pings gently with a text from Will.

_**How goes it?** _

He smiles. Nights that end with a conversation with Will are the best.

 _the writer in me is compelled to comment on that text_  

_**everyones a critic** _

_l_ _ose an apostrophe there?_

Chris scoots the desk chair back and flops onto the bed and waits for the volley.

_**asshole** _

_t_ _akes one to know one_

Okay so that was kind of weak on both their parts.  He’ll call that one a draw.

_**…?** _

s _hut up, i’m allowed. tired._   

The air kicks off suddenly and it seems much too loud in his room without the constant background noise. Chris flicks the TV on, scrolls through channels mindlessly while he waits for Will to reply. He lands on the New Jersey Housewives. Not his favourite, but still good.   

**_whatever helps u sleep at night ;)_ **

_ASSHOLE_

“You’d help me sleep at night,” Chris mutters, then closes his eyes and shakes his head. He rolls back off of the bed and sorts through his clothes to find a shirt to sleep in. It’s too cold in here to sleep without one and he knows if he messes with the thermostat it will be sweltering overnight. He kind of just sucks at this hotel thing, which baffles him.

Another ping sounds over the noise of the TV.

**_i’_ _m made of rubber and you’re made of glue…_ **

_is this a bad come on?_

**_oh my god, please tell me u know that one_ **

_?_

**_im so old_ **

Chris cracks up.

_well then. you lost another apostrophe old man. here, have one  ‘_

_**fuck you asshole**_

_sure you can get it up? not too old and tired and old? and old?_

**_fuck off_ **

_viagra?_

**_fuck off_ **

_happy to_

There’s a long pause; when Chris checks he’s surprised by how late it is. Under the bed sheets he’s created a warm little hollow for himself, but when he stretches to work the kinks out of his back, the unused sheets are cold under his feet. Next to Chris the bed is space shaped to fit a body; not for the first time Chris wishes he had someone who could be here with him to fill it.

He flips through channels a little more until he gives up, pulling out his laptop to pull up old episodes of Summer Heights High. He definitely needs a go-to show to cheer himself up with. There’s no activity from his phone; Will must have wandered off or something to do. Chris shoots him a quick goodnight before silencing his phone and snuggling in to watch his movie.

~*~

**_how’s Chicago treating you?_ **

He’d forgotten his Skype was on. Chris finishes the sentence he’d been fiddling with.

_Alla picked the restaurant. I ate too much._

**_she have ninja restaurant picking skills?_ **

_Yep_

Chris clicks over to the current chapter he’s working on and stares at it for a while. He’s not slept well the last few days. He’s been on the road enough to really start to feel it. In many ways he’d hated the Glee Live tour, especially the scarcity of his own time to decompress. But he’d had the option of comradery and company when he needed it.

**_You’re quiet._ **

A sudden impulse to just blurt everything in the small text box with someone he’s used to sharing so much with strikes.  Maybe it’s because he’s worn enough to want naked honesty; both from himself and with Will, and that’s really fucking scary.  An extension of vulnerability that he’s carried a fear of since he’d contemplated with Max, probably.

Chris follows that impulse with another and decides to send a request to switch to video call.

“Hey there!” Chris has to fight the urge to hide his smile behind his hand when Will’s face fills his screen. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“To loneliness.” Apparently he’s too tired for a filter tonight.  He half expects a joke in response.

“Boy do I get that.” Will props his chin in his hand. The lighting in his room is weird, making the picture hazy and too light.

“No friends to hang out with?”

“Home for the weekend, stuff to get done.” Will sounds about as glum as Chris is feeling.

Chris watches the line of Will’s shoulders when he shrugs and notes how even in the shitty resolution, the light textures his hair and the fine smile lines around his eyes.

“Missing the bright lights of LA?”

“Nope, just the smog.”

A not so tiny ache sets up camp in his chest and it doubles when Will gives him a familiar smartass grin. They’re both quiet for a moment and Chris is aware that they’re each taking the moment to appraise each other. His hair is a fucking clusterfuck and he’s forgotten he has his glasses on, only he doesn’t really care about any of that because it’s so good to see Will’s face again.

Fuck.

“So tell me,” Will’s the first one to break the silence, “Weirdest thing to happen to you so far?”

“Oh god-” Chris leans back and settles in to tell a story.

~*~

Two hours later he’s settled in bed with his laptop next to him, arm curled under his head where he’s laying on his side.

“I have a three day break in two days.”  He yawns.

“Mmm, probably need it.”

“Yes. People break.” Chris moves one shoulder uncomfortably.

“…Chris?”

“Yeah?” Chris settles further into his pillows. Damn the bed in this hotel is comfortable. Will opens his mouth and then shuts it as if he’s changed his mind.

“You’re tired, I should let you go.”

Chris frowns. “I don’t want to.” He feels silly and too warm and a little scared just after he says it, but it’s okay because Will nods with a sad smile. There is a too heavy silence that prickles a little; he’s not really sure why he said that, only that once it’s settled in, for both of them, he can tell that neither of them knows what to say.

“So you’re in bed,” Will sort of teases to break the tension. “I wondered how long it would take me to get you there.”

Chris giggles (it’s late, he’s allowed to be a little slap happy and a lot smitten because damnit, his defenses are down). “Pervert.”

“You know it.”  Will puts on a long suffering sigh. “Not that I even know it anymore, it’s been so long.”

“Hear, hear.” Chris says drily. Will licks his lips and Chris  _aches._

“You’re right, I should go.” It’s late and it’s so tempting to take this further. Not a good idea for too many reasons.

Will clears his throat then teases singingly, “So long as you think of me.”

“I always do.” Chris jokes back, smiling wide with a surprise laugh at his own daring. He murmurs a quick goodbye and disconnects the call before he can give any more away.

It’s maybe too much, ending the conversation there, but Chris misses Will, s _tupidly, completely_  misses him, and he wants so badly for Will to be here with him. It doesn’t even make sense because he’s always been busy as hell and is mostly comfortable with the understanding that there’s not room in his life — not if he wants to get all the things he wants — done.

But there’s a hint of Will now after their conversation, the recollection like a corporeal fingerprint just under his skin where Chris imagines his breathing and the salt of his skin under his lips. The call is barely over and already he’s cupping and squeezing himself, remembering Will’s smell, heat thick with sweating in the dark, and the give of his mouth.

For someone who wasn’t often  _there_ , with the security of distance, Will is suddenly somehow always  _here_. They’d agreed on just friends, but he can’t keep feeling that there’s something here that could be more.

He wonders how long this will be enough, and how he’ll keep this up because Will is so, so tempting.

He knows he’ll get hurt.

Which is not enough to stop him now; he thinks of Will’s smile and how his mouth felt, how it would feel around him. He takes his time, stretching himself open and fucking into his fist. He fingers himself with desperation, knowing that Will would make this so, so good, every added year of experience one Chris’s body would benefit from. His fingers aren’t quite enough but he didn’t bring his dildo. They slide in with practice though, slow like he wants Will to fuck into him, dragging his cock against every sparking nerve.

Longing spears, stretching low from him into a groan when he comes, alone, so so alone in the sterile isolation of his hotel room.

~*~

By the time he gets to Ohio, Chris is seriously done. It’s been great, meeting the fans. So many more seemed to love the book — could quote moments; had given him thoughtful gifts. But  _god_ , so many gifts.

His hotel room is quiet, with only the too loud hum of the air kicking in. He doesn’t want television or music tonight. Chris is so oversaturated with sound, from talking and talking and hearing so many stories from his fans.

All in all this has gone so much better than he thought — Will was right, so many of them had come for  _Chris_.

Ugh. Will. Just the thought of him makes him hurt a little. He’s lonely for him, for comfortable company and laughter. It’s dumb, how much he misses Will though — they text constantly. They flirt, Will sends him links to his blog and hilariously scathing comments about books or movies he’s been watching.

Quite often there’s a layer under their words, a hidden meaning that Chris only hopes means that Will wants Chris; just something more.

Chris flops onto his bed, trying to decipher the language of desire when threaded with fear. He’s not ready to lose anything he has, but it’s impossible not to dream like this, in the cocooning silence all around him.

~*~

From Ashley:  _uh oh_

To Ashley:  _am I in trouble?_

From Ashley:  _I guess that depends._

To Ashley:  _on?_

From Ashley:  i _f you’re ready to admit that you want him_

Chris stares at the phone for a full five minutes, unsure how to respond. He’s not spoken to Ashley about Will, which sucks, but he’s just not been ready, not when he’s hardly sure what _he_  wants. His phone pings again.

From Ashley:  _come on Colfer, did you think it was a secret?_

To Ashley:  _maybe?_

From Ashley:  _From me?!? Boy, you are a dumbass._

From Ashley:  _so??_

To Ashley:  _I can’t. IDK._

From Ashley: _well, if you decide you can, you’d better get a move on buddy. I hear through the grapevine that he’s been seen with Samuel a few time_

Oh.

Chris takes a breath and puts his phone down.  _Oh_.

Well that’s that then.

From Ashley:  _Chris?_

He turns his phone off.

~*~

The first person Chris expects to see when he walks into Ashley’s apartment is definitely not Will. His immediate response — ducking out of sight into the hall to her bathroom, cheeks tell-tale hot and heart hammering — is not how he would normally handle things either. He’s spent the last week ignoring Will’s gradually decreasing texts other than the occasional one word response. There’s just no obviously right way to respond — ask about Samuel? Why, when Will hadn’t offered the information? Wouldn’t that seem weird? And if he  _did_  happen to ask, he’d probably have to answer  _why_  he was asking, which would  _not_  do because he isn’t even sure why he would.

Well no, he knows why. He just doesn’t know what he would _do_  with the information. Offer himself up if Will isn’t seeing Samuel? Probably not going to happen.

Chris has no idea how to handle  _any_  of this. He’d started his summer tour confused as hell but with the spark of hope that maybe something might eventually happen between them, as well as a whole lot of fear of getting hurt. Well, he’s hurt anyway, and he knows he shouldn’t be because  _not_  getting hurt or damaging his friendship were the reasons he’d ignored that spark in the first place.

He’s pretty sure that the sudden cold shoulder he’s been giving Will is hurting their friendship anyway.

Now he’s just confused, hopeless, and inches from having to explain why he’s been ignoring Will when they’d been in near constant contact.  _And_  he’ll have to act like he’s fucking  _happy_  for Will and Samuel. Fucking _fuck._

For someone who has so much of his life together, it burns to realize that he really does suck at this whole “relationship” thing.

Just around the corner from where he’s hiding he hears Will’s voice; lazy south melting the ends of his words the way it does most when he had a few drinks. Chris knows he can’t stay hidden all night and that he won’t be able to avoid seeing Will. So there’s only one way to go then.

Chris takes a breath, plasters his even camera smile on his face, and squares his shoulders.

~*~

Chris knows he has no right to be pissed at Will; he’s not even sure he  _is_  pissed. What he is is stuck talking to Jason, some guy Ashley just introduced him to, surreptitiously watching Will. His wide open smile and laugh, his ridiculous faces and delicious arms and beautiful body.  He’s stuck trying to be polite, trying not to notice every time Samuel touches Will’s arms (seriously, how many times do you need to touch someone to make a point anyway?), and trying to ignore the confused looks Will’s been shooting him ever since Chris brushed him off half an hour ago.

“Yeah?” He tries to focus on whatever it is that Jason has just been talking about. He’s a good looking guy, has been attentive and flirting but not too flirty — Chris hates it when strangers get in his personal space without invitation.  

“Yeah.” There’s a small silence. “Are you okay?”

Chris shakes himself a little. God he’s being rude. This is what Will has reduced him to, foolish and needy and  _rude._  “I’m sorry, yes. I’m just tired.” 

“You only got home a few days ago, right?”

“Yes.” He lets himself be flattered. For all he knows, Ashley prepped this guy (she’s pretty crafty, his girl. He normally loves that about her). Right now, though, cynical feels like way too much work, not when letting a cute guy show interest in him seems to be coming rather easily. “It’s nice to be home, but it feels like I haven’t been home long enough that everything doesn’t still seem weird.”

“Like?” Jason shifts closer. Behind him, Will is frowning in their direction. Chris ducks his head and smiles, looks up at Jason through his eyelashes. 

“Oh I don’t know. Have you ever spent so much time in hotels that when you get home, it almost feels like just another hotel?”

When Jason laughs the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, makes him look just a little older in a way that really works for Chris. “No, I can’t say I have.”

“Lucky you. Trust me-”

“Chris!” Will claps him on the shoulder before bumping him playfully with his hip, “Who is your friend?”

“Will,” he moves away a little, puts a hand on Jason’s back, “This is Ashley’s friend Jason.”

Will’s eyes flick down before he meets Jason’s eye and offers his hand.

Well, that’s interesting.

Chris narrows his eyes and decides to test the waters a bit more. “I was just telling him about the tour.” He makes his smile as inviting as he can, eyes steady on Jason. “Anyway, we’re dry.” He shakes his empty glass and turns to address Jason, “Want to go get another drink?”

“Yeah, that would be great.” He takes Chris’ offered hand easily, missing the glance Chris darts over his shoulder in time to catch Will’s expression.

If Chris didn’t know better, he’d think jealousy was written all over Will’s face.

~*~

What’s dumb is that he doesn’t know enough to realize that that look, a flash of hurt and a little bit of possessiveness, are what makes kissing Jason tucked into the corner of Ashley’s party just that much hotter. Not that it isn’t hot standalone; it’s been a while since he’s had his hands and mouth and stomach pressed against someone like this and it feels good enough that he lets himself be persuaded into a few more kisses and then a few more. Allows Jason’s mouth to nudge his chin back so that he can bite and kiss his jaw and behind his ear. Grabs onto and enjoys the curling heat in his body. Lets things heat up further than he normally would, until it’s really with regret (both for leading Jason on and for the state of his poor, outraged dick) that he has to pull away.

“I’m sorry, I just-” Jason’s hair is ruffled and his lips are red and Chris is so tempted because this could be easy; getting off and having fun. Only nothing is ever really easy when you’re  _Chris Colfer_. He’s never sure about people’s motives until they’ve been around long enough to earn their place in his trust. Which sucks because quite often he just wants to be young and impulsive and you know, actually get fucked. Plus, he’s not convinced that hook ups with guys who won’t potentially fall for him (or realistically, for whom he won’t fall and get hurt over) aren’t the best way to go. “I don’t think I can do this.”

But he’s freaking _Chris Colfer,_  which means a lot to him and to a whole lot of other people. Maintaining his privacy and protecting his image so that he won’t let any of the people who look up to him down; all of that is hard, but worth it in the scheme of things. His goals and his plans are all so much more important in the long term, and nothing stupid, not even feeling this desperately horny, is really worth jeopardizing that.

“I think I kind of get it.” The rasp of Jason’s voice and the way his body is angled down into Chris’; the flex and knead of his hands on Chris’ sides — none of those are really helping his cause.

“I’m not- I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on.” Chris bites his lip, which is still vibrating from well use, “Maybe we could do something sometime?”

“Yeah,” One more squeeze, knead and the slightest tug that pulls him closer again, and then a quick kiss, “I’d like that.”

~*~

Chris is high. Scratch that, he’s not high, he’s the kind of blown out where everything seems to take on a surreal quality, time skipping in fragments that feel broken apart, like snapshots jumping, tracing just moments behind what’s really happening.

It doesn’t matter though. He isn’t sure why he’s laughing so hard, only that he feels weightless and lax and all of his responsibilities and commitments and work, work and work feel far away and meaningless and right now, he’s just Chris. Just Chris.

God, so many people, where did there get to be such a press of bodies and heat here, smoke heavy in the air and pungent tart all around him?

Will sits suddenly next to him on the couch, laughing too, so much closer than he’s let himself be to him in a long time.

 _Let himself_. That’s a thought because he’s not consciously done anything, only everything conscious and unconscious and subconscious are blending… only not and fuck all he doesn’t really care that much to parse it because Will is there and he feels  _so good_. He’s not even close enough to touch and everything feels incredible, the way the air moves around him and how calm it feels to be so close.

Chris closes his eyes, then opens them and he’s laughing again only he can’t remember why and then thinks, oh right, that song Ashley’s playing.

He turns and Will isn’t laughing, just watching and he wonders why he’s still laughing and then he can’t help it, he has to move closer because nothing feels so good as him.

Chris isn’t moving, but then must have because he’s kissing him and Will’s jaw is a little rough under his fingers and his mouth so hot open where Chris seems to be fucking his tongue in.

Oh, he’s now aware,  _oh god, so so good_. Chris directs Will’s mouth again, whimpers into his lips, clumsy legs curling under him, he’s kneeling up and swallowing and breathing and trying to absorb every little bit of Will he can.

“Christ,” he breaks away to whine. His jeans are too tight to really let him move like he wants, because he wants and wants and can’t help but want to crawl onto Will’s lap and wrap himself all around him. _Oh God_ , does he want and he’s wanted so badly for so long and nothing has felt so like this, pulsing comfortable and aching and like sex right through him.

Only he’s not there, he’s alone on the couch and Will is standing, hand fleeting damp-warm on his cheek when he leaves.

~*~

“What did he say?” It’s dark in Ashley’s room and he wonders again if he’s real, if this is real. And what does real mean? The universe feels so big and what is that anyway, just being one small package of atoms and chemicals and electric process of neurons and feelings in some unknowable, unending and expanding movement into something without definition anyway? What does the universe expand into, and how can anything really exist in something that far beyond his small comprehension?

“Colfer, you are so fucking blown.” The light is on and Ashley’s weight is sinking onto the bed, he’s rolling toward her where it’s so nice to have something warm and someone breathing and up next to him because even he gets lonely for something to cling to. Is lonely.

The light is off and everything becomes slow even breaths. He moves away, drapes a leg over the edge of the bed to feel the floor under the sole of his foot. If nothing is real it doesn’t matter much anyway, the floor is there beneath his foot and that’s enough to ground him.

“No it’s not.” He’s such a fucking liar, even to himself, all the fucking time.

“Hmm?” Ashley stirs.

“What did he say?”

She doesn’t answer.

~*~

He doesn’t wake well, never really does after a night like last. It’s too bright and despite everything else, that sense of lingering surreality unsettles him even when he knows he’s all too real.

Chris closes his eyes and considers burrowing back under the covers. Even skin too hot, mind skipping through the broken movement of recall from the night before, stitching broken memories into one long reel, he’s not sure if he should take embarrassment or comfort or heat from the way Will’s lips were so wet and pliant against his. Or maybe shame because he’s definitely not  _that guy_ , not the guy that cheats or the guy who participates in any form of cheating. It’s just that Will has him so confused; he’s supposedly with Samuel, but the way he was watching Chris at the party…it would just be so easy to believe in a fantasy.

“Not like this,” Chris mutters it aloud. It’s what Will had said, standing and slipping away from him.

_Not like this._

Well then.  _Not like this_  sounds awfully close to  _maybe like that,_  right?  Whatever that is. So…wait. Chris closes his eyes. What does that mean? Why would he say that if the offer wasn’t on the table?

It’s morning and he’s fucking disgusting and exhausted and he realizes, so strung out on Will. Yeah, he admits, _just friends_  is a joke, a ridiculous joke and maybe it’s about time he stops being a dumbass and takes a risk.

Chris had no idea how he’ll manage to turn this around, or how he’s going to make Will his, or even what kind of _his_  he wants (he’s resolutely  _not_  thinking of Max, he’s done thinking about him or that, he’s  _not_  letting any of that stick around anymore). But he  _does_  want Will and damn, he’s fucking  _Chris Colfer_  he’s never backed down from working for the things he wants, and he’s not going to stop now.

What he needs, he realizes, is a plan.

~*~

Chris is good at plans. He’s good at getting what he wants, and a part of that has always been a crystal clear vision and intense drive. So what if that drive has always been career driven? He’s accomplishing things he always dreamt of, from getting the fuck out of Clovis to making a movie. And it’s not that he wants to slow any of that train down, or that he’s so tired he wants to stop.

Chris is a pretty independent guy, but sometimes, he’s lonely. Chris has always been acquainted with being alone, and mostly that’s not a bad thing. The moments when it  _has_  been like that — him lonely instead just alone — his castmates had been a great gift. Had filled in the holes he’d carried for a long time — the desire for friends and companionship and people who would get him,  _like_  him just the way he was.

With Max, Chris had gotten a taste of what it might mean, having someone be more than just a friend in his life. And for a little bit, he’d almost let himself really want it. Chris closes his eyes and tries really, _really_  fucking hard not to feel that ugly and tangled bubble of emotions: anger and hurt and feeling so  _stupid_  for letting himself get kind of lost in it.  Letting himself think it was more than just great sex and companionship, letting himself hope for more. That he might have been worth the risk it would have been to Max.

Okay, so that had stung. A _lot._  

Chris closes his eyes, lets himself think about that night at the club, about all the days alone in hotel rooms, jerking off imagining Will with him, _doing_   things to him, allowing Chris to break him apart into the most vulnerable and desperate pieces.

Desiring Will has really scared the shit out of him; the way they laugh together and the things he’s trusted Will with; are these worth the risk? What’s worth more — his pride which might take another hit, or the potential?

The thing is that, yeah, he really wants Will. Like, wants to let Will  _wreck_  him, fuck him the way he’s always fantasized someone would. Even the thought of Will’s mouth on him again is enough to make his skin flush hot and tight.

Chris stares at his open computer screen, waiting for him to bang out a few more pages of his book. His heart is freaking out, pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears.

The first step toward resolution is admittance, right? Or something?

He closes his eyes.  _Okay. I want Will_. Chris opens them, stares at his shaking fingers.  _I could fall in love with him._

_Fuck._

_Alright, this is okay._  Chris breathes in slowly, holds it a beat before releasing it slowly. This is going to be okay.

This is why, he knows, he needs a plan. Chris opens a clean document on his computer and starts as simply as possible. He wants Will, but he needs to be sure this time that Will wants him enough to take on all the insanity that comes from being with him. He is  _not_  taking the same sort of stupid risk with his heart as he had with Max. Even more…he doesn’t want to hurt Will. Because he’s known Will long enough — through a bad breakup and the wistfulness that flits across his face when he sees people well matched and in love — to know that Will, for all the advice he’s given Chris, aches for someone to love.

So,  **Step One: Gather Data**.

Chris frowns; there’s no way he can think of to do this without talking to Will himself. There’s no way in hell he’s going to get Ashley to run interference for him here. He’ll just have to bite the bullet and do it himself.

 _Hopefully_  Will wants him back. At the very least, Chris is sure, Will is attracted to him. Hopefully what happened yesterday and Will’s words probably mean that he and Samuel aren’t exclusive either.

Unfortunately, talking to Will means he actually has to  _talk_  to him, which might be kind of awkward, seeing as how he’s been blowing him off for weeks now. There’s nothing to be done there though, other than explain.

So he’ll apologize. He’ll sit Will down and use the apology as a segue to asking about Will’s feelings. Once he has a clearer idea where he stands, he can move on to Step Two

 **Step Two: Make a move**. Maybe not a huge move, not at first, Kissing? A date? Chris could totally be amenable to some making out. So maybe not rushing into sex, but starting slow. And maybe, if Will isn’t interested in more at first, Chris can win him over.

Of course he has to take into account that he’s not the only one on the playing field…well on the field he hopes to be playing on. So he’s going to have to find a way to get rid of the competition.

Definitely  **Step Three**  then. Chris types carefully, pushing his glasses up his nose impatiently.  **Eliminate the competition**.

Hmm….how to do that? He stares at the computer, drums his fingers against the desk. Well, he reasons,  _assuming he’s interested, and that I get him to the making out and dating stage, I’m going to need to step it up_.

Impatiently, Chris backspaces quickly, and rewrites.  **Step Three: Get him into bed**.

Chris smiles. He really likes Step Three. And what it might mean.

He’s definitely going to have to give it his all for Step Three. Rock Will’s world. Chris bites his lip. Will is eight years older: just the thought sends delicious shivers through his body. Eight years of experience,  _fuck_ , if he manages to make this happen, he’s reasonably sure Will is going to be the one rocking Chris’ world. If the way he kisses is any indication…  _god_ , does he want to get Will into bed.

World rocking, check. He’s definitely going to have to break it all out, forget any insecurities and go for it.

He’s going to annihilate Step Three. Because he gets what he wants.

Chris nods his head, steels his resolve

Step Four then…once he’s gotten Will into bed once, he’s going to have to use his ninja sex skills to keep him coming back.

 **Step Four: Eliminate the competition for good**. Once he’s there, Chris reasons, Will will definitely be his, right?.

 _Well_ , Chris stares at the hypnotic blinking of the cursor,  _No time like the present_.

Even with a heart beating so hard it almost hurts, Chri manages to thumb over the screen of his phone, opens a text box. His fingers are shaking. He composes a text, deletes it, and then thinks. And thinks. And thinks, until it comes to him; with a laugh his fingers move over the touchscreen.

 _I think I need advice. Hypothetically._  

He wonders if Will even remembers this. It takes a full fifteen minutes to get a response, most of which he spends staring at his phone and willing it to buzz.

  **You need hypothetical advice?**  

Chris laughs almost hysterically with relief.

 _Something like that_  

 **hit me**  

Chris swallows and closes his eyes.

_Can we maybe do this in person? I have Thurs free_

**can do!**

Chris stares at that exclamation point. That’s good, right?

 **your place**?

He bites his lip. Not here, there’d be no way to escape should things go wrong.

_I could use a break. Yours good_

  **yep**

With a smile, Chris rolls his shoulders back, saves the document in front of him before closing it out.

Operation  **Make Will Mine**  is officially underway.

~*~

It’s actually painfully hard to focus on the movie blaring in front of him. Just a foot away, sprawled and comfortable and stupidly relaxed, is Will. Will, who is long limbs and so good smelling, even with the distance between their bodies. He looks incredible, dressed down and easy: Chris has to clench his fingers into fists to keep from reaching over and tugging Will’s well worn t-shirt over his head.

 _God what an asshole_. Chris tries to calm himself down with irritation. Only it doesn’t work because all he can think of is the way the word has come to feel like an endearment to him, a word they’ve bantered between them for months now affectionately.

Will shifts a little, adjusting his hips to settle more comfortably on the couch. Chris closes his eyes, tries to use slow breathing to calm himself down. To  _not_  think of everything that lies under all those clothes; dark nipples he’d love to nip at, the flat planes of Will’s chest and the tapering V of his pelvis and his cock, which he’s never seen but wants to lick and suck and feel fucking him, so, so badly.

Okay so maybe he’s using his own attraction to Will to distract himself a little. In the future (hopefully), once he’s successfully enacted the plan, they’ll get to the sexy parts. Which sound like a lot more fun than having to face Will, explain his actions, and extract the necessary information. He’s still not clear on how exactly he can extract without showing his hand.

“Are you alright?” Will’s question startles him from his thoughts.

“Oh! Um- yeah, I guess.”  Chris knows he should open the conversation now. Only with Will in front of him it’s even more clear just how much lies in the balance here: the potential to make an incredible friendship uncomfortable and weird. Maybe even ruin it.

“Okay.” Will reaches over and pauses the movie. “So. We should talk.”

“Talk?” Fuck, his voice has gone a little high the way it does when he’s nervous, and it’s such an obvious tell.

“Chris,” Will smiles — the sweetest one he has, the one where one side curls up just a bit more and his head tilts slightly to the left. “You wanted advice. You’ve been twitching since you came in-”

“I’m not twitching.”

“ _Chris_ ,” Will chides gently. Chris looks away and struggles not to jiggle his leg. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you…well really more like waiting for you to talk to me, but this is getting kind of ridiculous.”

“You’ve been-” Chris squints, then tries to regroup, “About?”

“Why don’t we start with the other night and work backwards from there?”

“Yeah, um, I’m sorry about that, I was  _really_  blown, and-”

“Well, we both were. Which isn’t really the point because it’s not the first time it’s happened, right?” Will’s body is facing his now and Chris wants so badly to scoot closer. Even just to feel Will’s hand in his — something comforting and grounding.  

“Right.  W-well, I, I um-”

“And then there’s the part where you stopped talking to me for weeks.” Will laughs a little.

“I’m sorry,” Chris bites the inside of his cheek to keep his own nervous laughter in.  

“I’ve been waiting to talk to you-” Will does move closer then, exhaling shakily, and puts a hand on Chris’ knee.  It’s warm enough to seep heat through the denim, fingers spread just enough that his thumb is resting dangerously close to the inside seam inside his thigh. Will’s eyes on him are steady and wide open and suddenly there’s so much  _there_. Will’s fingers tighten and Chris’s whole body suddenly throbs, pulled towards a magnetism he can’t ignore.

“Will-” he breathes, putting his hand over Will’s and gripping so that his thumb digs harder into the muscle. When he lets go, kneeling to shift closer and then straddle, it’s the constant pressure of Will’s hand, steady on his thigh even as he settles over him, that tells Chris this is okay. That this is something Will  _wants_.

A helpless gasp stutters out of him when Will’s palm smooths up his thigh, then down.  Chris winds his hands behind Will’s head, the fingers of his left hand carding through the short hair at the base of his skull.  Will’s eyes track him, translating invitation and desire.  Chris moves as close as he can, nose almost brushing Will’s.

“Kiss me,” he breathes desperately.

And Will does. Leans forward into the slight space between them and  _takes_  Chris’ mouth with his, lips confident and insistent, and when his tongue works between his lips, Chris absolutely melts into him, yielding and close and so incredibly turned on, so worked up he can hardly breathe but to moan quietly.

Will’s hands are steady, holding his hips hard, pulling him closer. Chris rocks into the tug, grinding a bit against where he can feel a hint of Will’s erection. He’s so hard, cock pulsing and blood pounding, hips moving in broken circles and thrusts.  He’s mildly aware that he’s kissing Will frantically, so little finesse and just on the edge of a cliff that feels so huge and almost frightening.

“Oh god, Chris, yeah-” Will breaks away and groans; uses his teeth on the edge of Chris’s jaw and when he closes his mouth over his Adam’s apple, sucking hard and dragging his pelvis closer roughly, Chris pushes every part of his body possible against Will, cries out loudly and comes suddenly, so intensely his whole body coils almost too tight, the warmth of his come soaking his boxers while he pants and groans his way through it, mouth right at the corner of Will’s.

He shakes his way through, through the overwhelming cascade of pleasure, through the slow freefall that leaves him sagging against Will, still breathing a little too hard. Chris keeps his eyes closed, rests his forehead against Will’s and-

“Oh my god,” he gasps, so connected with the man under him.

“. _..Oh my god_.” It hits him hard, everything he’s just done, that he’s  _come in his pants_  after basically jumping Will.

What was wonderful and irresistible is suddenly cold and uncomfortable and, worst of all, embarrassing. Chris is up and off of Will before he can even register having told his legs to move.

“Chris?” Will’s voice is confused, low and raspy with the edges of arousal still, and Chris just  _can’_.

“I just - need to -”

The bathroom is the first door he comes to, and that’s good, because he doesn’t want to  _leave_ , he’s not that dramatic, and even if he was he still couldn’t, not with Will there and his own body still pulling toward him. He doesn’t even turn the light on, just pushes the door closed and sinks down on the edge of the tub, eyes on his feet and his fingers on the cold edge of the tile.

“Chris?” Will’s voice again, clearer now, on the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

Chris swallows, feels it bob his throat. He’s not  _okay_ , nothing about this is  _okay_ , not grinding against Will until he’d come (like a  _teenager_ , and that’s what’s so embarrassing; how young is he in all of this, what must he look like to Will - ?). But the kind of okay that Will’s talking about - Chris can hear the edge of it in his voice as he says his name, again, low now, and worried - Chris is just fine.

“I’m fine,” he says, and is glad his voice sounds steady, at least to himself. Because even if he’s not quite fine, he know he will be. The embarrassment is maybe the worst part, because he came here to  _talk_  and to plan and that plan had lasted right up until Will touched him.  _God_.

“So are you going to come out when you’re done freaking out, or am I going to have to break down this door?”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Chris, you’re locked in my bathroom.”

“It’s not locked,” Chris points out, and then wonders if he should have. He stands up from the tub. He ignores his reflection in the mirror, cleans himself clumsily with a wad of tissue and shaking hands. A breath and then he puts a hand on the doorknob. “How could you break it down anyway? You’re tiny.”

Will laughs faintly. “Not as tiny as you, Christopher.”

Chris sighs, and opens the door to Will, arms crossed over his chest.  “Alright, what is all this about?”

Chris swallows, tries not to look at Will’s mouth. “I had plans.”

“And this wasn’t part of your plan? What part?” Will offers him a smile, “I bet it has steps.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs.

“And what wasn’t a part of your plan?”

Chris keeps his eyes on the wall next to Will when he answers. “Any of it. All of it.”

The frown nips in Will’s eyebrows. “So, what does that mean?”

Chris thought he’d have more time for this; he thought he’d be able to think and strategize, alone; he thought things would unfold under his control, as they always seemed to, because he has gotten very good at control, these last few years. Only there’s something about Will that seems to be breaking everything apart, cracking his whole heart too wide open and exquisitely vulnerable. He’s not prepared to look Will in the eye and say the things he’s been planning to say; not like this, still shaking and embarrassed and off footed.

So he shrugs and says honestly, “I don’t know.” And then he shrugs again, and really can’t look at Will this time, not even his eyes,  “I think it means I go home, and go to bed, and call you later, and talk about this with you then.”

Will looks like he’s about to argue, but then he stops himself and Chris is glad, because he’s not sure how much of a fight he’d be able to put up right now, not with Will in front of him.

“Okay.” Will says, then waits a beat. With an almost imperceptible thread of insecurity he asks, “Can I hug you before you go?”

The laugh snorts out of Chris, this man is  _ridiculous_  and god, he’s so crazy about him. “Knock yourself out.”

Will steps forward and his arms around Chris are solid and tight and warm. Without really thinking about it Chris hugs him back, the smooth planes of him, warm under cotton, just feel  _good_.  It’s a bigger act of willpower than he had expected to finally pull away.

“I’ll talk to you later?” Will asks, eyebrows hopefully raised, when Chris puts his shoes on by the door.

“Yeah,” Chris says, and straightens out the tongue on one of them. “Talk to you later.”

~*~

He showers mechanically, almost tired enough from the drive and the roller coaster he’s only got himself to blame for getting on. His ears ring slightly as a consequence of the loud music he’d played the whole way home in the hopes of deleting the possibility of too many thoughts.

It’s early — barely nine — but he still pulls on flannel pants and a comfortable shirt. His hair is fucking everywhere; he has a faint memory of Ashley ribbing him and suggesting he wear a headband, telling him Leo DeCaprio used to do it, back when his hair had been a signature of his look.

As if that is  _ever_  fucking happening

Ice cream is a definite must, the most easily accessed solution to all of his problems. He scoops it thoughtfully, deciding four might be almost enough for the magnitude of the situation.

Only he’s barely gotten two mouthfulls in before there is a flurry of knocks at his door. Fucking Ashley, how does she always  _sense_  when he’s in some sort of crisis?

Only it’s not Ashley behind his door.

“Will.”

He’s wearing the same shirt, hair a mess, breathing a little fast with hands deep in his pockets.

Chris says the first thing he thinks. “Do I have chocolate on my face?” And wow, was that a catastrophically stupid thing to say. “I mean, um. Come in?”

Will shuffles past him.  They stand a little awkwardly just looking at each other until Will speaks up.

“No.”

“No?”

“No, you don’t have chocolate on your face.” And then, “I called Ashley.”

Chris blinks a few times, trying to ignore the way his heart seems to be trying to pound out of his chest with hope and almost joy. “Oh?”

“I’m not with Samuel. Ashley told me she told you I was when you were on tour and I wasn’t. Am not. Yeah.”

Chris catalogs the things he sees, from the worry lines around Will’s eyes and the way he presses his lips together to stop the rambling, to the way his shoes are untied, ends left dangling.

“Okay.”

“Chris.” Will says. And he’s said Chris’s name in countless ways, but never quite like this, like how Chris feels, careful of all the things that lie in the balance. Like imploring.

Will came to him, he tells himself.  _Will came to him_.

It’s so right, he understands with clarity, that they should both come to each other willing to risk because the reward would be worth so much more than what fear might be guarding them from. And Will is here, breathing too fast and looking the closest to afraid Chris has ever seen him.

It’s suddenly so clear; not just that Will wants him, but that there’s no other way he wants to be with Will than with naked honesty. Chris gives up on containing his smile; his too big, really happy smile.  He’s so sure of Will, and that’s what makes it so easy. Because this man? This beautiful man who is looking at him with something like reverence — this man will never hurt him.

“I want to be with you.” He breathes out in a rush, then surprises himself with a shaky laugh.

“Oh, thank god.” Will’s smile matches how he feels — so incandescent it almost hurts. Will’s fingers slide over his cheek and he exhales in relief before whispering, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

He’s only just nodded before they are; it’s slow and gentle in a way they’ve not been able to kiss before. It’s deliberate and almost too much because now, god  _now_  he can really let himself fall into it and kiss Will without being afraid of all the feelings he’s been tripping over for weeks now.

Chris rocks up on his toes, one hand cupping Will’s neck so his thumb can rest on the rapid pulse there. His breath escapes in a moan when he releases Will’s lips with small bite to his lower lip. He slides his hand under Will’s shirt and over his lower back, soaks up the heat of his skin and kisses him again, and then more, until he’s dizzy with it, body straining with Will’s.

“We should,” Will pulls away, panting, eyes wide open on Chris’s, “We should slow down. Talk.”

“I don’t think I can.” Chris admits, dipping in for more kisses, light and sweet, searching and needing and straining for more. “Please.”

“Chris,” Will warns and Chris knows what he means, even when they’re still speaking through kisses and the so gentle touch of Will’s fingers tracing his jaw and the cusp just behind Chris’s ears.

“No, I know.” He lets go then, nuzzles into Will’s neck and closes his eyes, drowning in everything he wants to give this man. “I want to be with you. You can take me on dates and I’ll hold your hand and we can have sex whenever we want to. Can we-” He swallows. Everything rushes with excitement and nerves. “Can we do that, please tell me you want that?”

“Oh god,” Will crowds him against the wall by the door, hands so hot where they mold down the length of his torso. “Yes. Thank god you’ve finally come to your senses, I’ve been-” He stops.

“You’ve been?”  Chris leans back a little to meet Will’s eyes.

“Waiting for you to come to your senses.” Will admits.

“Me?” Chris shoots back, “What about you?”

“Chris.” Will offers, low and rich with feeling, forehead tipped against his shoulder. His arms come around Chris, palms splayed against his back, and he whispers it low like a secret, “I’ve been waiting to come to my senses, too.”

Will kisses him then, again, and it’s more; something like he’s been lit up, like they both have, with that little spark they’d started with, months ago.

He lets Will press into him while they kiss, kisses him until he’s sure he can’t take it any more, kisses with his heart wide open and his hands in Will’s hair, until his body is straining to be just that much closer.

“I know we should talk about all this,” he gasps, “But I might die right now if you don’t touch me.” Will’s mouth is open against his, tongue sure and soft and wet and it’s   _all. for. him_. When Will pulls away it’s with the smacking noise of a kiss interrupted.

“Yeah. Definitely. That-” Will’s body vibrates with laughter against his, “Let’s do lots of that.”

He leads Will up the stairs to his bedroom. But somewhere between  _can’t wait for this to happen_  and _this is happening_ , he starts to feel a little awkward. He’s hyper aware of Will behind him, hyper-conscious of the fact that Will is pretty much on level with his ass, which he hopes Will is checking out, but also realizes is covered in unflattering pj pants.  Also, there’s the whole sex ninja aspect of his plan — a plan he’s pretty sure he can throw out the window — but it’s hard not to be intimidated, at least a little, by the years between his experience and Will’s.

“So…” Chris steps aside to let Will in through the door. “My room.”

Will’s smile is parts smirk and giddy, “I figured.”

“Asshole,” Chris says it with a smile of his own. He loves that it’s a term between them, something they’ve called each other in friendship and affection for months now.

“Come here,” Will tugs him closer by the front of his shirt, then slides his hand under, up his back until his palm is spanned by the wings of Chris’s shoulder blades. “Kiss me.”

“So bossy.” Chris jokes, then lets himself be tugged closer. He arches, a little, pressing his stomach against Will’s and giving himself to Will’s mouth. It’s something to see, the way he inhabits his body — fuck, Will’s  _bod_ /i> — but another to feel; his taut stomach and the definition of pecs that Chris lets his fingers sense on their trail up to round over the slope of his shoulders.

So long now he’s ached to shape his body to Will’s, to press and press and cast their bodies until they’ve made something altogether new.  

“Hey” Will’s eyes open slowly. His hand is so big, cupping his jaw, “Chris.

“Yeah,” he’s breathless and smiling and maybe with anyone else that would be too much exposed, but with Will he only wants more. Chris resists the urge to close his own eyes when Will’s thumb strokes his cheekbone, radiant flushed. He keeps his eyes wide open and watches Will’s expression as it slides toward intention. He’s not learned defenses against the next sort of kiss and the intensity they both bring to it. It shivers up through his body so that he’s rising on his toes to meet the epicenter of heat, Will’s lips and the breaking of breath against his face and the helpless noises Chris can’t stop himself from making.

“I’ve been waiting a really long time to kiss you like this, Chris.” Will whispers against his wet lips.

“Tell me about it.” He demands, shifting enough so he can get at Will’s neck.  

“That night at the club?” Will admits, “I wanted you so bad that night and it just…from that night on, it went from a wanting to fuck you thing to a wanting to be with you thing.”

“But then why didn’t you-?” Chris pulls away a bit.

“We talked the next day and you seemed so freaked out. I thought I’d give you some time. You said you wanted to be friends and- I thought maybe with the tour, if we talked a lot, you’d see that you weren’t going to lose me as a friend.” Chris blinks when Will pulls back and kisses the bridge of his nose. “I was hoping you’d see that you’d be getting so much more than a friend, if you let me be yours.”

He pulls away a bit. Will slides his hands down Chris’s arms to tangle with his fingers.

“Things got a little- I was kind of confused over the summer- I guess after talking to Ashley it makes sense why you stopped talking to me and why, um. I guess why you started seeing that other guy.”

“I’m sorry.” Chris squeezes the fingers of Will’s left hand, “I didn’t see him past that night. it was just-”

“Chris, it’s OK. I have a feeling this could have gone a little easier if we’d both been more upfront and behaved less like we belong in a Jane Austen novel.”

“Never really liked those anyway,” Chris murmurs, edging forward to kiss the side of Will’s mouth gently before sliding them over to brush against the sweet bow of his lips, mouth opening when Will’s does. He kitten licks inside, an almost teasing pattern, until Will’s hand comes up to cup the back of his head, holding him steady so that he can kiss the sense right out of him.

He whimpers when Will’s lips move to his jaw, then below his ear, then nibble down his neck. He has to tighten his hold on Will’s shoulders when that actually makes him weak in the knees, which…wow. He had no idea that was an actual thing, only Will is doing this incredible  _thing_  with his mouth and. Just. Wow. Yeah.

“Fuck you’re just,” Will speaks between sucking kisses, ”so gorgeous.“ Chris rocks against him and whimpers. Will breaks away and stops kissing him, “Wow, that-”

“Don’t stop.” He shakes out, jolting when Will bites him then kisses sweetly over it, “Oh fuck no, wait.” He breathes, centers himself to try calming down. “God…the things you do to me.”

“Yeah?” It’s pleased and a little like wonder. “That really works for you, huh?” Will kisses along his collarbone, tugging his shirt to expose more skin.

“You have no idea.” Chris doesn’t mention his own reaction, just hours earlier, and the way he’d come instantly with Will’s mouth around his Adam’s Apple.

Will laughs softly, then pulls back to kiss his lips.

“Something you want to share with the class?” Chris runs his fingers through Will’s hair. It’s good, thick hair like his own, soft weight sensual between his fingers.

“Just an old-” Will shakes his head, “I had a friend once tell me that no gay men like having their necks kissed.”

“None?” Chris raises his eyebrow.

“Not a one.”

“Must have been a faulty study,” Chris tilts his head to expose his neck. “Maybe we need to conduct some more studies. Just in case.”  

Will mouths across his throat until Chris is trembling with it, then drags the tip of his nose up a slow line until his breath falls hot in his ear, “Bed?” he suggests.

“Yeah,” Chris tugs Will’s shirt off, helplessly excited because he’s seen Will shirtless countless times but never like this.  _Oh my god,_  he thinks then. Because Will is shirtless, in his room, under his hands, and what next? Shirtless, yes. They probably both should be.  He shrugs out of his own shirt, feeling his hands fumbling a little and then the tug of Will’s helping him smooth it over his head.

“Here.” Will runs his hands down from his neck to his biceps and then over his pecs. Chris shivers and pulls Will toward the bed, sitting on the edge so he can run his mouth over Will’s stomach. He lets his fingertips linger in the groove of his spine, low at the waist of his pants and smiles at the hitched exhale his touch elicits.

He looks up and finds Will watching him, eyes fever bright and intense in a way he’s never seen. In a way he  _gets_  to see now, which is thrilling and a little scary; it seems like a huge responsibility, almost, the weight of how this moment needs to be perfect. “Will-”

“I know.”  Will traces his eyebrow and lets Chris look, just look, like he must know that Chris needs, then smiles when Chris breathes out.

“Will. Your  _body_ you’re kind of ridiculous, you know,” he speaks against warm skin, hands slipping lower until they cup Will’s ass, kneading into strong muscles. “How long did these take, anyway?” Chris licks up the defining edge of one muscle.

“A while,” Will lets out a laugh that ends in an appreciative hum of pleasure, then puts those muscles to good use, sliding his hands under Chris’s thighs, hoisting him up and back on the mattress.

“Ohhh,” Chris leans back on his elbows, lifts his hips when Will goes to tug his pants down, “Showing off now, huh?”

“Would that get me in your pants?” Will sasses and Chris has to laugh.

“I think my nudity stands to answer that question.” Will’s hands run up his legs slowly; he follows them with his mouth. Under Chris’s head his duvet puffs a little around his ears and in the silence, the wet sounds of Will’s mouth moving up his body seem so loud. He wonders what Will wants next; Will’s lips close around his nipple and he shifts a little because it’s not something he really likes.

“Chris,” Will noses under his chin, “God, you’re sexy.”  Chris brings his knee up and spreads himself out a little, humming a little affirmation when Will bites the inside of one thigh. It’s been a long time since anyone has touched him like this, touch that makes him want to stretch out and luxuriate, Will’s hands and lips a kind of heat he wants to absolute saturate himself with.

As long as it’s been since he’s been touched, it’s been longer since he’d touched someone. Longer still if he counts how long he’s wanted to touch someone like this. Because Will is someone he wants to worship with touch, and the best part is that he knows he can trust Will with that desire. He rolls onto his side, ignoring Will’s protests when that dislodges his mouth, and shuffles until he can kiss him again.

“How about some reciprocity?” Chris breaks away and puts his hands on Will’s hips, thumbs hooking impatiently under the waistband of his jeans until together they manage to fumble them and his boxers off.

He splays his hand on Will’s chest when Will moves in to kiss him again, wanting the moment to just look. And look.

And look.

Because Will has a beautiful body, cut and thin and tight. The curve of his lower abdomen trembles a little with repressed laughter when Chris trails his fingers along it.  His dick is incredible, thick and flushed and searing against this palm. Chris touches him carefully; Will watches with a small smile and dark eyes and it’s almost painfully surreal, the fact that he gets to do this - touch Will’s incredible body, but also it seems, his heart.

He’s been thinking about this  _a lot_ , and waiting for what he’s positive is way too long, and so he doesn’t waste any time before pushing Will down by the shoulders. He runs a thumb up the length of his dick, rubbing it gently against his frenulum and kissing it once, then opening his mouth to take him in. Because Chris has wanted this for months, to have Will heavy in his mouth, balls rolling soft under his fingers and against his palm, beautiful body (somehow more even than he’d anticipated) on his bed with him.

 _God_ , he closes his eyes and feels the heat of Will’s dick on his tongue and the free-fall of anticipation and pleasure swooping through this body,  _god, I hope he’ll fuck me_.

“You really cut to the chase, don’t you?” Will’s fingers tug through his hair when Chris works him deep and then deeper.

“Is that okay? I’ve just- for months now, and-” Chris tries not to squeak out a laugh when Will hooks his hands under his arms and pulls him up.

“In what universe is someone sucking my dick  _not_ okay?” Will muses. They’re on their sides with legs tangled and Chris is shuddering into the palm of Will’s hand running down his back and the sensation of their cocks brushing between them. “I just wanted to slow things down a little.”

He opens his eyes when Will cups his hand around his ass then slides it down to pull his leg up over his hip. Will kisses him quietly and whispers, “I want to take my time with you.” He slides their bodies together deliciously.

They touch each other slowly then, kissing carefully and with lush intention, then dirty and dirtier until Chris is vibrating with the effort of holding back.

Will pushes the hair off of his forehead tenderly. “Tell me something you want, honey.”

“Would you-” he interrupts himself with kisses, voice dropping almost shyly, “I’ve been wanting-”

“Mmm?” Will never stops the slow grind of his hips; just props himself on an elbow to roll Chris onto his back a little. Chris keeps his hand on Will’s shoulder because he wants that sense of being grounded, uses his own body as counterpoint.

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a beat, then lets the words rush out. “I really want you to fuck me.” He pushes his dick hard up against Will’s; his whole body feels like a too intense pulse of needing and nerves.

Chris opens his eyes when Will groans out, “Fuck, Chris.”

“Good?” he works down instinctive nerves.

“Definitely,” Will plasters their bodies together, muscles of his arms rope taught as they take his weight, “That can definitely be arranged.”

There’s something so easy about Will’s face and the set of his shoulders and Chris knows he should be a lot more relaxed about this than he is than he feels, because this is something he wants — he’s thought about it so many times he can’t even count them. He exhales into a smile and tries to catch Will’s mouth in a kiss.

Will pulls away a bit. “Condoms?”

“Oh yeah, um-” It’s way too much work to move himself so he flings one hand in the direction of the drawer. “I haven’t- I haven’t had to use any in…I just, um, ninja plans, you know?” He winces.

“What are you talking about?” Will tosses a condom on the bed next to him then hauls Chris closer before wrapping himself around Chris’s body. He kisses the apex of Will’s shoulder carefully.

“Don’t worry about it.” Will smells so good; he’s close and warm and Chris knows that one day, this smell will be familiar enough to comfort as much as turn him on.

And he’s turned on — so much so that he’s counting it as lucky he already came today. He’s turned on but under his shoulder he feels the sharp foil of the condom and there’s a quickening in his brain. This never worked with Max; no matter how much he  _wanted_ , he’d never been good at turning his brain off enough to just let go. There’s desire like waves in his body, rising from an anxious ebb into a washing heat and throb.

“Can I?” Will moves a little, one hand gentling over his hipbone. He smiles up at Chris before kissing down his solar plexus. Chris nods and opens his legs again easily, spreading his knees to make room for Will between them. Will has this look of concentration and oh, it’s wonderful to be the recipient of that, an attention focused solely on his pleasure.

“It’s been a while since you’ve done this?” Will leans up onto one hand, face hovering over Chris while his fingers slip wetly against him, over and around his balls, tracing up his sack between them, then down around the sides and down to massage his perineum. Chris exhales with surprise and shudders; stutters a small  _oh!_  when that finger presses with confidence against him until it slips in just a little. Chris cups Will’s cheek with shaky fingers and looks into his eyes. He can’t help the way he tenses a bit, reminding himself to relax against the touch and let it feel good. Will’s eyes never leave his; they look like warmth and hunger. It feels like trust when Chris speaks then-

“C-can you…oh, um, more-” He bites his lip when Will does it, pressing another finger in and it feels weird in a way he remembers well, that kind of weird that has the potential to be fantastic but can also just be unsettling. Chris rolls his hips, once and then harder, chasing that phantom pleasure.

“Chris,” Will pulls his fingers out slowly, “Hey-”

“No, don’t-”

“What’s going on?” He’s tense, he realizes then. Really fucking tensed up. Will settles next to him with his head on a folded elbow. “Talk to me, honey.”  

“Nothing’s going on.” He leans in and lays his lips against Will’s chest before stroking his fingers up over one nipple, crest of shoulder and down his arm until he’s cradling Will’s wrist in one hand. “Let’s just keep-”.

“Hey,” Will’s knee knocks against his until Chris meets his eyes. “Stop being a dumbass and talk to me.”

“I just really want this to be good.” He admits. Will’s eyebrows shoot up.

“You don’t think this is going to be good?”

“No!” Fuck, “that’s not- It’s not about you, it’s a … me thing.” He finishes lamely.

“I think you’re going to have to explain that a bit more.” Will flips his palm up for Chris’s inquisitive fingers.

“I really want to like that.”

Will jiggles his hand. “This?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes and considers what he has to lose, really, with honesty. “Being fucked.”

“Oh yeah.” Will smiles, “I remember that conversation. You like being fucked, but not by other people.”

“I don’t know if I’d put it like that really-”

“Because you didn’t trust him from the start.”

Chris snaps his mouth shut. He’d never told Will that — he can’t even say that he’s thought that, but it’s not untrue. When Will shifts to meet his eyes, Chris looks back. “You really know me.”

“I really do.” Will’s thumb catches on his lower lip.

They watch each other for a few moments until Chris finally sees, really sees who is in front of him. A new lover yes, and this is something uncharted for them, but also, just his friend. Something loosens in his chest.

“I trust you.” Chris cups the back of Will’s head with sure hands and lays himself back against the bed.

“Okay, so  _really_ trust me.  If it doesn’t work out,” he winks, “I guess I could let you fuck me into the mattress.”

Chris laughs and watches the flex of muscles under skin when Will straddles him. “So what now?”

“Now you shut up and let me blow you.”

Oh-” he manages faintly when Will opens his lips around him, sucking kisses and little licks and all hot breath and hunger until he’s completely hard again. Will’s hands are wrapped around his hips, thumbs moving over his hipbones in waves like sea fans, undular and soft. Then there’s the scrape of a nail, an edging pressure drawn down the valley of his groin, until his fingers rub the root of his cock and gentle his balls and travel between his asscheeks so softly it almost tickles. It’s a not quite feeling, a too quiet touch that’s not light enough but also just not enough at all.

Will pulls off from where his mouth has been working and working and working him up; slides it away to roll Chris’s balls against his tongue.  There’s a rhythm to the way he’s working, a way he’s being played forward and back.

Chris’s thumbs dig into the corded muscles of Will’s neck and shoulders; he’s trying not to arch into Will’s mouth and into his fingers because that seems rude. Rude but almost maddeningly necessary because his body aches to follow where it’s being pitched toward, this conclusion he’s gasping for. “Oh my g- oh  _fuck_ , Will.”

“Yeah?” The motion of his fingers never pause, brushing against his balls and perenium and against the swell of his ass in a maddening pattern.  Will’s thumb massages behind his balls insistently for a few seconds before it brushes a little closer to his hole, and then a bit more and his mouth is an insistent force on his aching cock and  _it feels so good_.

“You know…yeah.” He manages, biting his lip to keep himself hushed when Will’s thumb strokes down, firm and confident, against the million firing nerves of his hole.

“Feels good, huh?” Will kisses up and down his thighs. He pulls away to retrieve the lube.

“Stop teasing.” He demands with a gasp when Will’s thumb rubs down over him and it’s not even like he presses in then, it just happens, his body’s need imperative. Chris can’t really even tell when Will moves from one to two fingers and-

“Shit Chris,” Will breathes against him. He’s not even kissing him, just watching the movement of his fingers, “ _Fuck_  you’re so hungry for it.”

“Shut up,” Chris rolls down onto his fingers desperately, “Shut up, oh- oh  _fuck_.” He bites the side of his own hand, rides and chases that clever pleasure that multiplies from his rim through his cock and crackles through his body too hot and close.

Will, of course, ignores him a moment later. “Chris? Are you-”

“Yes, ye-  _oh_! Like-”  Chris hesitates for a split second; long enough for Will to slip up his body to kiss him. He grunts a little when Chris’s fists pull his hair a little too hard, then moans into Chris’s mouth. Chris bites his lip then kisses it before pulling back to look him in the eye. He’s so on edge and awed and desperate, made so by the relentlessness of how good Will is making him feel.  “Will you fuck me on my hands and knees?” He watches Will’s eyes go dark.

“God, Chris,” Will groans with his forehead, sweat damp, against Chris’s cheek,  “Yes.”

He rolls onto his knees and rests his forehead on crossed arms. Will pulls him back by the hips with a jerk, positioning him how he wants, touch proprietary and the side of rough that speaks to restraint barely tethered. His fingers slip back into him, dragging down inside in a way that sets up an ache in his balls he’s not used to.

“Breathe out slowly,” Will instructs then kisses his sacrum sweetly; there’s something strangely romantic about it juxtaposed with how frankly sexual he feels, spreading his knees to rock himself back against Will’s hands. He nods and does so, one long exhale he lets rise from his pelvis through his lungs and out his mouth and shudders when he feels himself opening for another finger.  

“Will,” he reaches up to curl his fingers around the edge of the mattress, turns his head to the side when he moans again. “What— now, please?” He arches then twists a little when Will pulls his fingers out because yeah, that actually is a disconcerting feeling.

“Okay,” There’s a pause when Will puts the condom on and the cold drip of even more lube, quite a fantastic amount really. Behind him there’s  the wet squelch of Will fisting himself with some too, “I’m gonna…Chris, I really-” he breaks off, lays a wet palm against the small of his back.  Chris curls his feet and toes over and around Will’s calves. He’s so finely wrecked, shaking and needing and heart painful wild against his ribs.

“Will,” he opens his eyes and closes them and feels how damp his eyelashes are. “I know, I do too, I do just   _please_. Don’t make me beg.”

“Breathe out again,” Will says breathlessly, “And push down when you feel me, okay?”

There’s a moment when it feels like way too much because  _fuck_  Will is definitely bigger,  but when he does what Will tells him it seems easier; he exhales again and tries to picture himself, his body relaxing open and open until Will is in, cock jerking with the throb of his own body.

“Alright?”

“Yes.” He gasps, unable to talk. He can’t really think either, not when Will starts a slow slide in, then again, then there’s more lube and Will is moving him with impatient hands, angling Chris’s hips until he feels that aching again, only it’s better cause it’s so much more. Everything is so much more and  _fuckfuckfuck_  he has to touch himself, can’t wait because he has to feel that circuit closing, the looping of pleasure into pleasure into more. “Lube, now, oh-  _oh my god_ , this feels so good,” he babbles, “Will, you f- you feel amazing.”

The lube thumps next to his arm. Chris manages, somehow, to fumble it open and onto his hand (and the bed). He’s barely touched himself when he know’s this is going to be way too much, “I, Will, st-stop, I’m,”

“No, no do it,” Will grinds against him, hip bones hurting against him, “Trust me-” there’s a smile in his voice, “It’s going to feel incredible, you coming around me.”

Chris arches suddenly, cock jerking in his hand, ass throbbing and clenching around Will, the friction of him pounding into his ass intensifying it in a way he’s never experienced. He comes and comes through his own crying  _ah, ah, ah’s_ and Will’s low groaning.

Will is still moving in him, slowing just a bit, and at some point it goes from this incredible clenching friction to something uncomfortable.

“Too much?” Will’s fingers dig and release against his ass.

“Yeah, sor-” he gasps when Will pulls out slowly, “That’s so weird,-” oh god, he closes his eyes. Will’s obviously fucked the filter right out of him.

But Will just laughs, “I know.”

He’s flipped then onto his back; through everything Will’s seemed so much more put together but in the comedown of his orgasm he can see clearly how wrecked Will really is. He watches while Will pulls the condom off impatiently, batting Chris’ hand away so he can take himself in hand and start to jerk off.

Under Chris’s palms Will’s stomach muscles are trembling and heaving. His lips are trembling, pressing together then unclenching, eyelids fluttering as he breathes heavily through the obvious pleasure

“Come on me,” he says without planning to, then feels inexplicably shy.

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” Will groans so loudly and does. Chris closes his eyes and feels warm splashing against his skin. He’d never thought that could feel like this, like something romantic. But it does. It feels like some weird mind bending, lining up loving Will and fucking him — being thoroughly fucked  _by_  him — can mean all the same things.

Next to him Will seems to be in some sort of post sex mode that looks nothing like recovery. Chris definitely gets that and wonders if this was just as much a revelation for himself as for Will.

“Will?” He rolls to his side.

“Wait, let me find something-” Will fishes around behind him half-heartedly, “You’ll drip on the bed.”

Chris puts his hand over Will’s elbow to quiet him. “That’s okay. I’m not worried about it.”

Will’s eyes are hazy when he opens them, and he smiles when Chris does.

“We get to have all the rest of it too, right?”

“The rest of what?” Chris yawns, marveling with his fingers at the texture of Will’s scalp. He wonders idly how either of them are ever going to get anything done with hair like they have.

“The dates and the holding hands and all the romantic stuff.”

Chris wiggles a bit and closes his eyes. Will traces his lips with the pad of his index finger.

“Yes. If you still want that?”

“I want.” Will says with fervor. “I feel like I’ve been waiting so long for you Chris.”

“Will,” he bites his lip and feels that hollowed in that’s resonating with quality of longing in his words, “I’m so sorry-”

“That’s okay.” He interrupts. “I’m done worrying about it.”  

And then he kisses Chris. Kisses and kisses him with sweet hands between the two of them. Kisses between traded secrets and confessions in whispers. They kiss until kissing tapers, until their eyes are heavy and their bodies are forced to tangle for more warmth. They kiss until they don’t. The assurance of more of that — all those promises — makes waking easier.

Other than their breathing, it’s quiet then.


End file.
